Six-Guns Or Surrender (Lincoln's Lawman Book 1)

by A. M. Van Dorn

  "I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to meet her better."

  “I reckon you will when she comes back with the money.”

  Once again, they fell silent, but now they were looking at each other directly. The want and desire was sparking in the air like fireflies. Riker knew it was time, and he laid his right hand on her cheek and used his free hand to take one of her hands up to his mouth and kissed it. Callie smiled at him and then slowly, the two drew together their lips pressed, their tongues exploring. Finally, Riker pulled back with a grin on his face.

  “I’m really starting to like river banks,” he murmured.

  “What?”

  “You’re quite the lovely cowgirl, aren’t you, Callie?” he said deflecting and she shrugged with a smile of her own.

  “If you think so, who am I to argue.”

  As Callie began to fumble with the top button of his shirt, he gently seized her wrists. He hoped this wouldn't stop what was to come next, but he wanted to be completely upfront with her before anything further happened. So many times, over the years he recalled the wisdom of Mister Lincoln. You can't place a value on honesty, son. It is priceless, and remember, at the end of the day, nothing will ever take the rag off the truth. Abraham had been right, of course, nothing could ever surpass the truth, especially when it came to people you liked and respected, and here on this river bank, he was liking Callie Beckett a great deal.

  Callie’s narrowed eyes betrayed her confusion at his sudden halting of their passion. He smiled to put her at ease. "Listen now. There is something I want you to know about my sister and me."

  “Go on.”

  “What I said back in town about us traveling to Pine Bluff to do a little prospecting, that was just for Dalton and Crockett’s benefit. We didn’t want him to know what we are really about.”

  Ever so slightly she pulled away from him, her gaze clouding, but he reached out and took her hand and gave her another smile still hoping to reassure her. She tilted her head to one side as she pursed her lips, waiting for him to continue.

  “I’m what’s known as a Military Marshal at Large and McKenna, well, she’s my deputy.”

  “I have no idea what that is.” Her puzzlement was complete.

  “Few do. We’re a special type of lawman who-”

  Callie drew in a sharp breath as suddenly a volley of gunfire erupted in the direction of the ranch. Wham, blam, bam the furious sound of weapons being unloaded immediately followed by the bellows of frightened cattle. Riker was momentarily stunned to find that Callie was on her feet before he was, launching herself into a dead run back towards the ranch.

  CHAPTER 13

  PINE BLUFF

  McKenna and Markham's destination, the doctor's house, was a white clapboard affair with forest green shutters adorning the windows at the far end of the main street. At the restaurant, the young black man McKenna had learned tended to the horses at the freight line's stables had given them woeful news that particularly angered McKenna. Making haste they had set out for the local doctor's office and now walking side by side, they swept past the shingled sign proclaiming Doctor Winston Keegan and up the two plank stairs. The pair drew to a halt, and Markham rapped on the door furiously.

  Almost immediately a young woman in her mid-twenties yanked open the door, her ebony locks that hung past her shoulders swaying as she did so. The woman stepped back so they could enter.

  “Mister Markham, I suspected you’d be along any time now.”

  “Good evening to you, Molly. McKenna Riker this is the doctor’s wife and nurse Molly Jane Keegan.” McKenna greeted her, and she couldn’t miss the blood stains on the front of her outfit. A calling card for the desperate measures employed by her and her husband.

  “Follow me!”

  Molly Jane led them through a side door that took them into her husband's office proper. There was no time for proper introductions as the pair drew close to the table with the body sprawled out on it. The doctor merely nodded at them as he worked. To McKenna's relief, she saw the man's bandaged chest rising and falling as the doctor worked on finishing applying the bandage. Molly Jane quickly joined him in his efforts. It was only then that she noticed a man sitting pensively in a chair beyond where the physicians were ministering to their patient. On seeing them, he rose and skirted around the Keegans and their patient.

  “What happened? All the stable hand Leon said was that Sam had been shot.” Markham pressed. The tall man was revealed to have sandy colored hair as he took his hat off and held it in front of his chest. Worry lines creased his forehead as he filled in Markham.

  "This is bad, Matt. Bob Mack and I took the replacement wheel out to Black Rock Pass as you asked, and as we were getting close, we saw vultures circling above the pass. We put the whip to the horses pulling our buckboard and hastened down the pass. Sorry to say, that's when we found old Sam here leaking blood. A couple of them blasted buzzards had already landed and were getting close to him." The man yanked out his pistol and spun it around and slipped it back into his holster. "A couple of quick shots and their buddies are out there right now picking their carcasses clean," he said, his voice trailing off.

  When he saw Markham were waiting for him to continue, he finished his tale. "As fast as I could, we put Sam up on the back of the buckboard, tied the team of draft horses to the back of it and hightailed it back to the doc's office. If I had to guess, Sam ran afoul of a holdup man. You know what an ornery cuss Belfry can be. He'd have stood up to someone trying to rob him and got rewarded for his bravery by a couple of pistol shots."

  “Thank God you got there when you did, Jake.”

  “Was Sam able to tell you who shot him?” McKenna asked. The man’s dark eyes squinted, almost as if he was seeing her for the first time as he turned to her.

  “Now who might you be now?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Jake Butler, my foreman, this is McKenna Riker. She was the one who came upon Sam in the first place and let me know about the broken wheel.”

  He put his hat back on his head and then shook it. “I gotcha, and no, ma’am. He’s been out of it the whole time. Can’t tell us nothing.”

  Markham frowned and then addressed the doctor, “Doc Keegan, what’s Sam’s outlook?”

  As his wife handed him a fresh towel, the doctor wiped his hands and stepped away from the table. He, like his wife, had yet to see thirty years on the earth, but instantly, McKenna picked up an air of confidence about him by the way he spoke.

  “He took two shots. The one I dug out of his shoulder did a number on it, and the other one went into his chest. By the grace of the good Lord above, that bullet managed to pass right through him without shredding any of his vitals. I’d say this man had a four-leaf clover in one hand and a horseshoe in the other. Sam’s not out of the woods yet, but I think he has an excellent chance.”

  Markham smiled for the first time. “Thanks to you, Doc.”

  “Yeah, not bad for an easterner,” Jake Butler chimed in.

  “Yes, Pine Bluff is lucky to have your talents here and not back east,” Markham enthused.

  “We are quite happy to be here, despite the rather eventful journey we had when we were coming west.”

  “That’s for sure,” his wife nodded, “The train we were on going through Arizona got commandeered by this oriental woman and her white brother. The pair used it to put a stop to a stampede and save a nearby town.”

  McKenna raised her eyebrow, this was something she would like to hear more about, but her focus was on Sam Belfry, so she brought the conversation back to him.

  “Do you still have the bullet from his shoulder?”

  “What do you want with that?” Butler exclaimed, putting to voice the puzzled looks on the face of the others.

  “Right here,” Keegan said as he passed her a little metal tray. McKenna accepted it and plucked the bullet. Holding it up by one of the lanterns on the wall, she gave it a once over.

  “No surprise there,” she said crisply a
s she dropped it back into the little pan, the bullet making a clinking noise as it struck the bottom and rolled.

  “McKenna?” Matt questioned as his brow furrowed together.

  “I never had a chance to bring this up before, but out in the canyon after I left Sam someone took a pot shot at me and I returned fire chasing him off … or so I thought. The bullet is the same caliber you’d find in a rifle. This wasn’t the case of some highwayman coming upon Sam to rob him and then shooting him with a pistol. I’d feel completely confident venturing the guess that this is the work of my ambushing marksman.”

  “What the hell you talking about, woman?” Butler said in a tone McKenna found excessively harsh and Markham seemed to as well judging by the annoyed look he gave his foreman.

  “According to you, you chased him off, and now you think he did this?”

  McKenna exhaled in frustration, still angry at herself as she answered, “Yes, Mister Butler. The man must have doubled back and shot Sam. In my brief conversation with him, I didn’t know the extent of the agenda someone had running against the Pepper Hill mines. I had no idea the potshot taken had me had any connection—but now, now I wish I had attempted to give chase. Catching him would have been hopeless, but it might have spurred him on to keep going instead of coming back to the canyon.”

  Only minutes ago, Butler had described Sam Belfry as an ornery cuss, but the more time she spent with him, McKenna felt that it was a case of the pot calling the kettle black. The man rocked back on his feet and brought his hand to the back of his head.

  “Now I’m not following any of this. Why would someone shoot at you?”

  McKenna crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall behind her. "I can see things going down something like this. Now I reckon the first thing that happened was someone sabotaged the wheel while you and Sam went back to check the manifest. One can guess that they did that because a stationary target is a hell of a lot easier to hit than a moving one. Sooner or later, that wagon wheel was going to break, and Sam would be down examining it. I suspect that my arrival interrupted the murder. While they were waiting for me to leave, they disturbed some rocks up above. I looked up but didn't see anything because the sun hit me in the eyes. The marksman didn't know that though. He may have thought I spotted him. Taking no chances, he tried to kill me before I left the pass. When that failed, I chased him off, and he came back and shot Sam."

  Molly Jane stepped forward, her face adorned with a toothy smile, “Holy shit. Who are you, ma’am?” she asked in wonder.

  “Molly Jane! You may have grown up having a sailor for a father, but you know I frown on you talking like one.” Doc Keegan scolded as he wiped blood from his hands with a crisp white cloth, staining it red.

  “Sorry, dear, but what Miss Riker here laid out was most impressive.”

  “What are you—some kind of dime store novelist to churn out a load of hooey like that? Probably just some redskin drunk on firewater taking pot shots at a white eye.” Butler scoffed as McKenna drew away from the wall and eyed the man. Nash wasn’t with her, so it was at her discretion as to how much to share with the locals. Butler’s attitude was starting to grate on her, so it seemed like the time was right. Reaching into her pocket, she felt the familiar cool circular metal and pulled it free and held it out in front of them.

  “Let’s all get acquainted again. I’m McKenna Riker, Special Deputy U.S. Marshal or if you prefer it more simply—I’m the law.”

  CHAPTER 14

  DALTON’S CREEK

  As they reached the stable behind the ranch house, they passed Luther who had been in the process of getting all three of their mounts saddled up and ready for the ride to Johann’s meeting. He was rooted in place by the sound of the gunplay. Callie’s shouting to him snapped him out of his reverie.

  “Papa, what’s happening?”

  “I’m not sure love!”

  "We're going to find out!" Riker shouted as he leaped up onto Abel's back even as the Becketts were mounting up as well. Seconds later they were charging down the trail leading to the ranch's north pasture. Behind them, they heard the shouts of other ranch hands emerging from the nearby bunkhouse. Dirt kicked high into the air behind their mounts as they went up to the rise overlooking one end of the pasture. At the crest of the hill, just as the sun at last dropped behind a distant mountain, they saw mayhem unfolding. The Beckett's Longhorns were bolting towards their end of the pasture, urged on by three gunmen who rode behind them, blasting away with their guns raised high above their heads.

  "Callie! If they break through the fence, it's a short way to the ravine! We could lose them all!"

  "I know, Papa! I know! Come on! We've got to head them off!"

  The Becketts dug their heels in and swept down the incline, but Riker did not follow. He was a lawman, not a waddie. He would be useless to his new friends trying to end the stampede. More likely he would just get in the way he knew. His real skills were needed elsewhere. He spurred Abel on, traveling along the ridge overlooking the pasture heading for his targets. Over the thunder and the shaking of the ground from the cattle, Riker heard the moment he had been spotted.

  “It’s that blasted stranger!”

  The distance made it impossible for him to see the face of the man, but his bulk and his accent allowed him to easily recognize the voice all right. It was the Southerner Spencer, he was sure of it. The other two men turned their horses and began making a break for the far end of the pasture, but Spencer who hung back reloading snapped his cylinder closed snug with six fresh slugs, turned, and began firing at Riker.

  Bullets hummed past his head in the split seconds that it took him to draw his Colt and begin returning the favor. The return fire seemed to give the man pause, and he turned his horse in the direction to follow the other men, but that didn’t stop him from blasting another couple of shots over his shoulder in the direction of the pursuing Riker.

  One shot managed to nearly crease his temple sending Riker into a fury, swearing to end the chase here and now. Leveling the gun, he took careful aim, and as the man turned to fire again, he buried a slug directly under the man’s raised arm. Catching up with the wounded man, Riker leaped from Abel’s back and carried the bulky form right off his horse. The pair crashed into the ground with his foe taking the brunt of the impact. The two tumbled for a moment, blood pinwheeling out from the man’s bullet wound before coming to a rest, Riker on his side and the other bloody man on his back.

  Riker had managed to keep a grip on his gun as he crawled over to the bloody heap that was staining the grazing land a deep crimson. His lips tightened as he gazed at the figure dying next to him. Spencer looked up at him with slitted eyes and he managed to force a grin.

  “Damn, why’d it have to be you that done kilt me? If’n I was gonna wind up in the bone orchard, at least it could have been by that sister of yours. She was as hot as a whorehouse on nickel night. I’d prefer my last sight be them giant tits of hers than your ugly mug.”

  Without even thinking, his fist struck the man across the face so fast he surprised even himself. Lord only knew what Mister Lincoln would say about pile driving a man with one foot in the grave, but the sun would never rise on the day that he allowed someone to disrespect McKenna.

  Weakly, Spencer fought to turn his head to look back up at Riker as he coughed blood up and all over his chin. The man’s eyes were barely open, but he was still struggling to speak.

  “Yeah, you got me, but I’m not the only one dyin’ tonight.”

  “What are you talking about?” Riker snarled as he leaned in close.

  “I’ll tell you only because you’re gonna be too late to do anythin’ about it and I wanna die seein’ the look on your face knowin’ that to be true, and the best part is they all is gonna blame you boy.”

  ***

  Dirt kicked up and Callie's mouth opened wide as she watched the Longhorns getting out of hand. Despite the gun-firing men having made their retreat, the spooked cattle cont
inued their frenzied surge in their direction. Their hooves pounded the ground as they rushed forward in their mad stampede. Luther gazed towards Callie, their eyes met one another, and they both knew they could lose it all if the herd broke out through the fence and reached the ravine a little under a quarter mile away.

  Callie suspected the cattle were instinctively making their way towards the gate in the fence. On a typical day, she and the cowhands would lead small packs of them through the gate and head down the slope. Before they came to the ravine, the cattle trail turned off to the right and headed to a large watering hole. In their frenzied state, there was no way she was going to trust that they would make the turn but instead keep going straight until they reached the edge of the precipice and their deaths that would lay at the bottom of it.

  Luther spurred his horse to shadow the herds' heading with Callie following on her horse right by his side, accompanied by their ranch hands. As the mass, at last, reached them and swept by their position, they fell in alongside them. Callie spotted a ranch hand on foot whirling a rope, steadily lining up his target and tossed a lasso around one of the Longhorns who had lost the group. The raging bull hawed and dragged the man a distance, creating two lines in the sand with the man's feet, but the cowpuncher stood his ground and calmed the bull and tied it off to a nearby fence post.

  “Nice work,” nodded Callie shouted over her shoulder back at the man as the group pursued the rushing herd towards the edge of the fence.

  “Here, here,” howled Luther followed by a shrieking whistle to get the herds attention, but it was all in vain as the beasts weren’t having any of it. The wave of cattle had gone into complete tunnel vision and couldn’t be persuaded by the whistle over the sound of their rumbling hooves. A moment later, as predicted, the longhorns burst through the once sturdy gate to the fence sending wood splinters flying as they began to pour out like a sieve through the gap left by the shattered gate.